


scorpio rising

by warmfoothills



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, and a bit dramatic lol, ohhhh idfk it's short and sad lol, sadder than i intended maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 23:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15784059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmfoothills/pseuds/warmfoothills
Summary: The last time Draco sees Potter he’s sitting in the Muggle playground they’ve spent half the summer in. It’s raining a bit and Draco feels like he might fall right off the top of the monkey-bars because they’re all wet and he’s a little drunk and doesn’t feel at all secure, in any sense of the word.





	scorpio rising

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i'm actually working on longer stuff but i just needed to put this somewhere  
> title is from the song of the same name by soccer mommy

The last time Draco sees Potter he’s sitting in the Muggle playground they’ve spent half the summer in. It’s raining a bit and Draco feels like he might fall right off the top of the monkey-bars because they’re all wet and he’s a little drunk and doesn’t feel at all secure, in any sense of the word.

“When are you leaving?” Potter’s hanging below him, jumping back up and catching the metal with both hands every time he slips off again. His glasses are covered in small drops because his head’s tilted back to look up at Draco.

Draco takes a drag of his cigarette and watches Potter’s nose wrinkle. He hates that Draco smokes, which is sort of hilarious, after everything. “Tomorrow. Morning, probably. No point hanging around.”

Potter hums and lets go with one hand, swinging on the other for a second before giving up and dropping down. He moves until he’s directly below Draco, gets hold of an ankle and tugs on one of his dangling feet. He’s always doing things like that, it’s weird, grabbing random parts of Draco’s body like he wants to have all of it, the back of his neck and his bony knuckles and sharp elbows. Draco steadies himself where he sits, not even bothering to glare down at Potter.

“You could still change your mind,” Potter says to Draco’s shins like they haven’t had this conversation three hundred times. He’s going back to Hogwarts when the summer’s over, Draco is not.

“I could,” Draco says because he doesn’t feel like arguing. It smells good out here, under the scent of smoke, the odd soft tarmac of the park damp and warm in the rain, the air close and wet. He’s always liked the rain. He won’t change his mind about this.

Potter really does pull on his legs then, both of them, so that Draco falls, almost kneeing Potter in the face and barely keeping them both upright when Potter tries to catch him. He’s stronger than he looks but still scrawny and severely challenged when it comes to balance. He’s probably a bit drunk too. He’d found it absolutely hilarious when Draco had pulled out the bottle, something about teenagers and drinking in parks and rites of passage, but he’d happily taken it when Draco had passed it over, his lips wrapping around where Draco’s own had been moments before.

“Idiot,” Draco says, and hears it come out all sad and stupid. Potter hasn’t let go of him and they must look ridiculous, half-tangled together, but there’s no one around to see. That’s sort of why they’ve been coming here all summer.

“So,” Potter says, right up close in Draco’s face. “The plan?”

“The plan.” Draco doesn’t have a plan, he’s sort of hoping he’ll find whatever it is he’s looking for once he starts moving. Sometimes he feels like his life has just been made up of stagnant places, a long string of spaces he’s carved out for himself, the Manor, Hogwarts, this park. He’s ruined all the old ones, one way or another. Maybe he’s hoping to make some new ones.

Potter rolls his eyes when Draco doesn’t elaborate and lets him go. He turns and walks over to the swings, looking back over his shoulder to check if Draco’s following. It makes Draco’s chest hurt when he does things like that, like he’s not sure if Draco won’t just leave at any minute, like  _ he’s  _ not the one who should be trying to get as far away from Draco as possible.

“Are you at least going to write?” Potter says when they’re side by side, Draco’s cigarette discarded, barely swinging, just enough to rock back and forth from his heels to his toes.

He hums in a non-committal way so that he doesn't have to say yes or no. Either one feels like a lie. Potter makes an exasperated noise in response. Often neither of them can shut up, piling years worth of words into single nights, other times Draco has no idea what to say to him.

“When do you have to be back?” Draco answers Potter’s question with another one, looks at the side of Potter’s face as he stares out at the darkness. The rain isn’t picking up, staying soft and patchy, the occasional huge drop dotting the ground. Draco feels one hit the top of his head.

Potter shrugs, his fingers wrapped around the swing chains. “Ginny’s at the Burrow, so.” It’s not really an answer.

Draco hums again. It doesn’t matter, Potter will leave soon. It’s almost funny that Draco gets to be the one who walks away for the last time tomorrow. Potter’s been doing it for months.

The really, truly shitty thing is, Potter loves Ginny and Draco knows that, he sees it anytime Potter mentions her. Maybe Potter feels something for him too, it’s possible to love more than one person at once. But Draco’ll be out of the country this time tomorrow and anyway, Ginny is good for Potter, she can give him the life he wants. Draco thinks he deserves that after everything, can’t think of anyone that deserves it more actually.

They sit there for a few minutes, maybe longer. Draco’s not thinking about anything much at all, which is nice. Then Potter sighs and gets off his swing, kneels in front of Draco so he’s forced to stop the back and forth momentum. When Potter kisses him he tastes like rain, and also like he always tastes, warm and sweet. Draco never imagined a world where he’d know what Potter’s mouth tastes like but here they are.

“Can I suck you off?” Potter asks when he pulls back, mouth against Draco’s cheek.

“We’re in public,” Draco says, which is stupid because they’ve done it before, several times actually, and a whole bunch of other things too, almost a whole summer’s worth of clutching at each other, here where no one else comes.

Still, Draco almost lets him despite it all, especially when Potter’s hands start moving up Draco’s thighs, palms spread wide and hot through the denim. Instead he lets go of the chains and frames Potter’s face, kisses him for a long time until he can feel Potter’s chest heaving where it’s pressed against his own. Potter’s hands are on his hips.

He tries to climb into Draco’s lap then, which is an incredibly stupid idea seeing as Draco’s feet planted on the ground are the only things keeping them from swinging backwards and there’s barely enough room for Draco’s hips on the little wooden seat, let alone Potter’s when he pulls himself up and wraps his legs around Draco’s waist. It makes Draco laugh at least. That might be one of the things he’ll miss most. He felt like he hadn’t laughed in years before this summer but with Potter it’s been easy.

Potter grins at him triumphantly when he gets himself situated. They wobble dangerously for a second and Potter’s eyes go wide so Draco has to shift his weight, secure his arms around Potter’s middle to stop him toppling backwards. Then they sit there, swaying gently, Potter basically the same height as him in this position.

He doesn’t say any of the things he could, which Draco is grateful for. He doesn't try to get Draco to stay, that small attempt earlier notwithstanding. He just looks at Draco, his grin softening into something a little more gentle, his eyes so green, too green and too full.

Draco looks out at the park over Potter’s shoulder. He’s never been here in the daytime; he wonders what it looks like in the sunlight. Maybe other people do know about it, maybe sometimes it’s full of children despite the fact half the swings are broken and the slide has rusted from silver to a reddish-brown. In the dark though, it’s only ever been him and Potter.  
  



End file.
